


The Art Is A Lonely Hunter

by BadHidingSpot



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadHidingSpot/pseuds/BadHidingSpot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac's therapists suggests he try an art class. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art Is A Lonely Hunter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steamcurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steamcurious/gifts).



The Art Is A Lonley Hunter  
Isaac's therapist, a woman with hair cropped too short and a mole just under her left eye, said that painting could be a healing experience. "Art therapy" was something sad twinks in television did when the writers ran out of ideas. Therapy, now that he thought about it, was something "only fags did".  
"Is that such a problem?" His therapist asked.  
"Is what?"  
"Doing something a homosexual might do."  
"I don't know," Isaac shrugged. He watched the mole bounce subtley on her cheek, close enough to her eye that he could fake eye contact if she looked into him too long. "It might make me," he paused realizing his words, "but I guess you can't really make someone that way."  
She smiled. "You see? You're catching yourself now. You know when it's your father in your head."  
"What do I do?"  
"You can do whatever makes you feel comfortable. Just drawing in your room, or maybe going to an art class?"  
"Art class might be fun, I guess." He switched his gaze back to her eyes. It occured to him suddenly that his mother had had the same shade of green. Or maybe she hadn't, maybe Isaac was projecting, he couldn't remember her face very clearly. He remembered his father's eyes, brown with rage, and Camden's eyes black and soft. He remembered Camden's arms too, scooping him up and running into the closet with him. Camden's body was big enough then that he could hold himself against the door and no matter how hard their father tried to kick it down he couldn't get at them. Camden's black eyes smiling sadly as he tried to teach Isaac to punch back. He was trying to be gentle but there was such urgency in his gaze. "You've got to learn this, Izzy," Camden said, "you've got to before I got to boot camp." Isaac learned Camden's second night away that his own body was not big enough to hold the door closed.  
His therapist handed him a pamphlet for the local Recreation Center. "They have a $10 class going next week. You can just show up and they provide the supplies."  
Isaac took it, trying hard not to crumple it in his hands. He had a tendency to throw away everything she gave him at first, but he was trying now. He even managed to smile at her mole before leaving.

Isaac tried to get the ginger girl's attention for a full four minutes but she continued to help each person who cut in front of him. He felt invisible, something he found comfort in, but as the minutes itched closer and closer to the time the class started he grew bolder. A burly man stepped in front of him and Isaac put his hand on the man's shoulder, very gently the way Camden would, and said, "Excuse me, I just have a quick question." The man conceted easily, soemthing that shocked Isaac so much that he forgot what he was going to say to the expectant--and somewhat annoyed--red head. "The art class?"  
"Yes?" Her voice was high and clippy.  
"What floor is it on?"  
She slapped a map on the counter and used a red pen to direct him. He muttered a "thank you" at her, to which she shooed him away and ushered the man forward. He didn't mind crumpling up her map and tossing it in the bin when he was done with it.

"How was it?" His therapist asked later that week. She'd been late and brought him a coffee to apologize. He drank it quickly, even though it was too hot and burned his tongue, he didn't really feel it anyway. Pain was something he could choose to feel.  
"It wasn't bad," He replied. She smiled at him expectantly and his leg bounced between the minutes of silence before he agreed to continue. "It felt weird, at first. Nerve racking actually."  
"Why's that?"  
"I kept thinking someone was going to look at my canvas."  
"Who?"  
"No one in paritcular. Just anyone." The coffee was cooling now, just as he was reaching the dregs. "The teacher I guess."  
"Would that have been so bad?"  
"I don't think so but," he almost finished but stopped anyway. She would have to prompt him. He didn't want to offer it up.  
"But what, Isaac?"  
"He might have said something."  
"Like what?"  
"Like that I was doing it wrong."  
She made a very clear and understand "ah" noise and shifted her legs to a new position. "Will you be going to another class?"  
"Yeah. I liked it. And the teacher didn't come over to look."  
"Would you mind trying something for me?" He looked into her eyes, making the decision if he could trust her, or if this task might be something cruel. He nodded.  
"Sure. What?"  
"Next class, why don't you ask the teacher to come over and look at your work?"  
His body shifted, anger and fear burning a hole through him. The coffee was bitter in his mouth, his throat, his stomach. Everything was bitter inside of him.  
"I see that upsets you."  
Hearing her say it relaxed him. He loosened his grip on the cup. Her voice was practical, not honey sweet and condescending.  
"Does that mean I should do it then?" He threw the coffee cup in her tiny bin. She smiled at him.  
"We go where the fear is." For some reason he thought of Camden again. He imagined him running into a burning building, or a wall of bullets, something dangerous. He imagined Camden scooping up a scared little girl and holding her, sheilding her with his body, until the shooting stopped.

The red head girl was working the desk again, still looking annoyed. Isaac wondered if that was her default state of mind. He approached the desk, less of a line this time, and knocked on it. She looked up with just her eyes, not lifting her chin. "Can I help you?"  
"I wanted to know if I could like, by a pass."  
"A pass to what?"  
"To the art class."  
"You mean you want a season pass?"  
"I don't know. What's a season pass?"  
"It's a pass, for like, the season."  
"Lydia!" A pale blob of a teenager scrambled up to the red head, jumping over the desk with middling success and stood up panting. "Sorry I'm late. I'm here."  
"You're late," Lydia said.  
"I know. I just said that. Didn't I say that? I'm sure I said it. Anyway, I had to give Scott a ride here."  
"I don't care, Stiles," Lydia sighed and handed Isaac a pamphlet. "That has a list of all of our different kinds of passes and what they cover. You can look it over."  
"Thanks," Isaac said softly. The boy, Stiles, started to prattle on about something and Isaac realized his class was already starting so he left.

There was a model, a human one, a dark and smiling one. A fuckably cute one. Isaac felt ashamed of that thought and looked away from the model, poised in an uncomfortable way up on the stool in the center of the room, and headed to his usual station in the back. He set up not realizing until after that he was behind the model and would have to draw his back. He was disappointed by this until he started to try and capture the different lines curving and shaping that back, that body.  
He called the teacher over, his hand shaking, his body tensing, everything about him ready to punch back. Camden's words in his head "Punch back, Izzy. He'll leave you alone if you punch back.". He froze up instead, which is what he always did and maybe that's why he'd had so many more bruises than he remebered Camden ever having.  
"Is this good?" Isaac asked smally. The teacher leaned forward, having not heard Isaac. She caught on quick enough that Isaac did not have to repeat himself. She smiled at the drawing.  
"A natural talent," She complimented. "May I?" She nodded to his hand, gripping the pencil as if it were a weapon. He loosened his enitre body following suit. She didn't take the pencil from him as he'd expected but rather took his hand gently and moved his hand through the air. "You can relax when you draw. Don't be so harsh with the pencil."  
"But what if it doesn't make a mark?"  
"It will make a mark, don't worry."  
"But what if it's not strong enough?"  
She smiled, letting his hand go, "Sometimes a subtle line is stronger." He did not worry about her seeing him drawing, or anyone, after that.

A two classes later and Isaac found himself face to face with the model outside of the room. The lights were off and the door was locked.  
"Is it canceled?" Isaac asked.  
The model smiled. "We're early, I think."  
"Oh." Isaac blushed. He had never been early to the class but he had been less and less late the past couple of weeks.  
"She should be here to unlock it any minute."  
"That's cool," Isaac found his body twitching but not in fear as usual. Rather he felt his body warming, pooling in his stomach, and he found it was only when he looked at the model's face.  
"How's it coming?" The model asked pointing at Isaac's canvas.  
"What?"  
"You've been working on one picture, right? Supplies are provided but you've been bringing your own. It must be going really well, right?"  
"Oh, yeah, I guess." Isaac shrugged.  
"Can I see it?"  
Isaac gripped his canvas and stepped back. The model's reaction was instant, stepping back himself and putting his hands up.  
"Sorry," he said gently, "I didn't mean to-I mean, I know artists can be private with their work."  
"It's just your back."  
"I don't get to see that very often."  
"That is a shame," Isaac said smiling.  
"I'm Scott," he introduced holding out his left hand, his right still in the air.  
"Isaac." Isaac took his hand and tried to to picture it sliding under the waist of his jeans. "Do you like modeling?"  
"I like fifty bucks."  
Isaac laughed.  
"You should draw the front of me some time," Scott suggested.  
"Oh no. I couldn't do that."  
"Why not?" It was innocent enough but it still made Isaac's hand tense inside of Scott's. Scott didn't shy away or let go. Isaac relaxed.  
Go where the fear is.  
"Good question. Maybe I will." Just then the teacher approached, beaming at her early birds, and unlocked the room for them.

Isaac was so pulled into drawing Scott that he did not notice the other students come in and he did not notice them all leave afterwards. He did notice how Scott's arms bent perfectly around his body. He noticed how still and and sweetly Scott could smile for hours without flinching. He noticed his uneven jaw but he noticed the darkness of his eyes the most. Just like Camden's such concern and kindness that Isaac felt himself shaking under it. But he did not break the gaze or stop his work, forty minutes alone spent on perfecting Scott's eyes on the canvas, until the teacher put her hand on his shoulder and said that she really needed to get home now.  
Scott was kind enough to walk Isaac out to his car. "Can I see it now?" Scott asked. Isaac didn't tense up this time.  
"It's not finished," ISaac said, "I'd rather you see it when it's finished."  
Scott pouted in a playful way. "When will that be?"  
"Probably just a few more classes."  
"Oh," Scott's face fell.  
"What is it?"  
"I won't be modeling for the next class." Isaac's heart sank. "She likes to change out the models ever few weeks. You know?"  
"Yeah," Isaac nodded, heart still in his stomach, "get some variety, I guess."  
Scott was about to say something when he saw someone across the parking lot he recognized. He stepped forward, only an inch or two away from Isaac, and waved to them. Isaac recognized the pale blob boy and the clippy red head talking close together. Isaac looked at his canvas, then to Scott, and back again. It really didn't look like him quite yet. Just in the eyes, he thought at first, but then he realized that the didn't really. It was more like the ghost of Scott's eyes was there, a suggestion hiding behind an imposter. Who's eyes were they?  
"It's all wrong," Isaac sighed in defeat, not even knowing he'd said it out loud. Scott turned his attention back to Isaac.  
"What's that?"  
"It doesn't even look like you. Not properly anyway."  
"What? No way. You spent weeks on it. I'm sure it's just that you're too close to it or whatever. Artists do that, right?" Scott put his hand on the canvas and pushed it downward. Isaac thought, at first, that Scott was going to try and peek at the picture. Instead, he was only trying to pull the canvas down from Isaac's face to look at him.  
Scott's eyes were correct now, smiling and black, a thing of their own and not Camden's. Not Isaac's brother's scared but faking it lie of a smile. No fear in the eyes, all compassion.  
Go where the fear is.  
"You want to come back to mine?"  
"Yeah?" Scott asked beaming. "That's all right?"  
"I want to try drawing you again." Isaac paused. "What I mean is that I want to draw you properly. I want to see you."  
Scott kept smiling, easily accepting that it was strange but clearly important. "I'd love to see you draw me." Scott, who was shorter than Isaac by an inch or two, stood as tall as he could to put his arm around Isaac's shoulder. Isaac felt a little safer than he had in years.


End file.
